


You're Sentimental (so am I)

by acornandroid



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Cheating, Drinking, Eddie's on the cruise to try and 'fix his marriage', F/M, Hypochondriac Eddie Kaspbrak, M/M, Masturbation, Masturbation in Shower, Richie and Eddie dated in high school, Richie is a cruise ship performer, Self realization, Sort of cheating, but its Eddie on Myra, cruise ship au, he's confused but whats new, i dont know what else to tag this but i finally finished this fic, mentioning of cancer, sorta?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:47:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23303377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acornandroid/pseuds/acornandroid
Summary: This was supposed to fix them. That was what this cruise was for anyways. To reassure both of them that they did in fact love each other—or more so of the fact that Eddie did in fact want to stay with her, and certainly wasn’t thinking about the one time he dated a boy in high school and how much better that had felt decades ago and how they’d probably have a nice house if he had stayed with him and he wouldn’t be working this stupid job and he could just have peace—--AKA The one where Eddie runs into his ex boyfriend who is a comedian on the cruise he's on with his wife and spirals into a crisis that seems to happen every time he's around Richie.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Myra Kaspbrak, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 5
Kudos: 145





	You're Sentimental (so am I)

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so happy to be done with this one. You can blame the musical 'Anything Goes' for this-- the title is from the song 'De-Lovely' from said musical. 
> 
> No beta. I'm tired and we die like men

Not to be dramatic—but Eddie felt like he finally understood what Rose meant in Titanic.

Granted he had only seen the movie a handful of times throughout his twenty-eight years on this plane of existence, but it was enough to make a lasting impression. Staring up at the cruise ship with the pieces of luggage that he was in charge of in tow, his wife next to him going off about something to the effect of mosquito bites in the Bahamas and malaria, he felt this odd sense of dread mixed with a twinge of excitement.

He decided to focus on the excitement more.

This trip was supposed to be _exciting_ —it was supposed to make him love his wife again.

Not that he _didn’t_ love his wife—he very much loved his wife because a good husband should always love his wife—and he _was_ a good husband, which meant he _did_ love her by definition.

Right?

He loved her as she stood to his right with both their passports in her hand, his ID and his wallet in her purse.

For safe keeping she said.

He loved her for how she kept things safe and in order. How she kept the house in her taste and perfectly set up. How she laid his meds out in the morning. She kept him safe-- kept him secure.

So, he _loved_ her for that—

Fuck.

That was what this cruise was for anyways. To reassure both of them that they did in fact love each other—or more so of the fact that Eddie _did_ in fact want to stay with her, and certainly _wasn’t_ thinking about the one time he dated a boy in high school and how much better that had felt decades ago and how they’d probably have a nice house if he had stayed with him and he wouldn’t be working this stupid job and he could just have _peace_ —

“Here—I have the boarding passes and we’ll get the room keys. Hold onto yours for now and don’t lose it, Eddie dear.” Myra handed him the piece of paper, and Eddie shuffled his hold on the luggage to take it.

What was it that Rose had said in the movie? That it was a ship of dreams—but it felt more like a slave ship bringing her back to America.

Eddie didn’t feel like that was an accurate description, but he understood a tiny bit of the meaning. Or maybe he was projecting- he wasn’t quite sure what about this whole thing was making him upset. Actually, he didn’t know what exactly about his marriage was making him feel off in general.

Or so he told himself that he didn’t know.

That’s what this cruise was for though. Just circle around the Bahamas and back to New York and everything would be a-okay again. Eddie would go back to work and Myra would go back to her current cycle of selling essential oils and everything would be fine. This vacation would fix everything.

A little rest and relaxation, a little husband and wife time, and the world would be right as rain.

\---

Rest and relaxation went flying right out the fucking window—

Light speed to Endor.

Gone.

Plummeted to the bottom of the ocean and beyond.

Eddie was sitting in the theater with his wife. Myra was holding his hand tightly within her own against the arm rest. They had nightly entertainment, as per usual with cruises. Usually shows or singers, small Broadway like productions or movies, an improv group.

Tonight there was a comedian.

When they announced his name, Eddie’s heart sank right to the bottom of his stomach and then shot back up into his throat.

That couldn’t be _the_ Richie Tozier—

But it was.

He walked out onto the stage and Eddie’s vision tunneled. Zoomed right in on that horrific Hawaiian shirt and those gigantic glasses. God- he looked like he had barely changed except getting taller.

Taller and broader.

Oh. And scruffy.

Maybe he _had_ changed.

_Fuck_.

There was only _one_ Richie ‘Trashmouth’ Tozier—

And he happened to be the ‘one-time Eddie dated a boy in highschool’ Richie Tozier.

He had kissed him.

He had kissed him more than once, actually. A lot, actually.

Eddie had enjoyed it a lot, actually.

He must have shifted enough for Myra to notice for she looked over, studying her husband with concern growing as easily as breathing.

“Eddie. Are you alright? Are you seasick? I told you to take something and you didn’t did you--?” She stage whispered to him, earning a few looks from the other patrons that made Eddie sink further into his seat.

He cleared his throat and sat up straighter, forcing himself to loosen his grip. “No, uh—I did. I’m fine, sorry.” Eddie forced the usual smile onto his lips, trying to convince her otherwise.

Myra eyed him for a moment, then turned to look back at the single man taking up the entire stage.

If only Richie knew what his presence was like now. Eddie was floored by it—he had always been able to command a room but in the most annoying of ways. Now, everyone was sitting looking at him- paying attention to him- even laughing.

Richie always knew how to make them laugh.

Eddie’s shoulders locked up and his insides turned to jello—

_Rest and fucking **relaxation**_.

\---

The next day Eddie found himself alone. It felt quite hypocritical of Myra, really, but he was trying not to linger on bitter thoughts.

She had been so insistent on spending time together— _this is our trip, Eddie dear_ _!_ And _don’t run off on your own, Eddie_ and _isn’t this just a lovely romantic cruise, Eddie_ and _don’t you love me, Eddie?_

For all her talk, she had booked herself an entire day at the spa to let out some ‘stress’, leaving Eddie to wander the ship alone. He wasn’t quite sure what to make of his worrying feeling of relief. A husband should want to spend time with his wife— _he_ wanted to spend time with _his_ wife.

Right?

There was a small bar on the upper deck by the pool. The cruise was one meant for adults, and during the school year so there weren’t any young kids save for the two older teenagers that were in the water at the time. The rest of the deck was made up with couples, or people sun tanning.

Eddie, who preferred to _not_ get any sort of melanoma, took a seat at the bar in the shade and made sure to apply sunblock for the millionth time from the small travel size bottle he kept in his pocket.

When he used up the last of that one, he produced another—he had made sure to stockpile up on them before the trip—but he had to pull out the small container of spray on sunblock to get to it, which was also in the same pocket as his inhaler.

Eddie spread the contents out on the bar top to get what he needed, ordered a mimosa, and decided to wallow in his own self-pity and confusion when someone spoke from a few seats down.

“Who the fuck carries that much shit in their pockets.”

He looked up, his stomach suddenly sinking at the familiarity of the voice. It took Eddie a moment to focus, blinking as the man was backlit by the harsh ocean sun.

“Fuck.” Eddie breathed before he could stop himself, locking eyes with Richie Tozier and staring.

Richie was looking at him weird, which Eddie couldn’t entirely blame him for. He had basically just had a gut reaction and was fighting off the sudden urge to make a run for his life the second Richie looked at him. Thankfully it seemed like he hadn’t been recognized yet.

Until Eddie did the stupidest thing and took off his glasses.

“You alright, dude— _Eddie_?”

Apparently, he was still recognizable.

Eddie gave a little bit of a nervous laugh, his shoulders hunching up around his ears a little like a turtle attempting to retreat into its shell. He wasn’t exactly sure what to do in this situation- in the crisis of the only boy you dated in high school suddenly showing his face as an entertainer on a cruise ship you were on in order to try and repair your slowly crumbling relationship with a wife you were still trying to convince yourself that you loved and were attracted to.

He had yet to say anything, but he didn’t have to because Richie was still going.

“Jesus fucking Christ- of course it’s you, you look like you’re gonna shit yourself. How have you been, man?” Richie was getting up—

Fuck.

Richie was getting up and crossing over to where Eddie sat at the bar, immediately taking the empty stool next to him.

Eddie felt his heart taking a running jump up into his throat and hang on there for dear life. He shouldn’t feel this way about a boy he hadn’t seen in years—a boy who very clearly grew into a _man_. A man with broad shoulders and the same curly hair and goofy smile. A man who no longer looked like a stupid stick in a tux waiting for prom.

“Hey, Rich.” He forced himself to say, moving to make his body language a little more open despite the fact that he was completely locking up. “It’s been—fuck it’s been _years_.” Eddie laughed a little more, clearing his throat and letting his fingertips dance anxiously over the sun warmed plastic of his inhaler.

He might need it.

“What the fuck are you doing here, dude?” Richie asked excitedly. Excited and loud—he was waving his hand like he couldn’t contain it. Like the lanky sixteen-year-old bouncing on his feet after Eddie had first kissed him—all anxious and ecstatic.

Eddie fought franticly to push the thought from his mind.

“What do you mean ‘what the fuck are you doing here’? It’s a cruise ship, asshole. People take cruises.” Eddie said, probably a little too harsh and a little too off the cuff. He made a face, his forehead creasing and nose wrinkling like a rabbit at the stupid question. “Do you think people just show up on cruise ships for the fuck of it?”

Richie snorted a laugh around the straw of his drink, which Eddie would dare to guess was a Long Island. Those things were dangerous.

Richie was dangerous.

He was only dangerous cause Eddie was thinking he was, and because Eddie was on the brink of doing something dangerous.

He just wasn’t fully aware of it yet.

“I mean why are you on a cruise. Is it just you? Dude, you used to stay like twenty miles away from beaches—”

“I’m here with my wife.”

He could see the thoughts come to a crashing halt in Richie’s head. The gears were turning, and the track was resetting. Apparently, those words didn’t sound right coming from Eddie’s mouth, but this was the first time he got visual confirmation of it.

“Your what?” Richie asked, abruptly. His gaze was flickering down to Eddie’s left hand, settling on the gold band across his finger and watching it tap relentlessly against the inhaler.

Eddie made another face and rolled his eyes—of course Richie Tozier would be a prick about all of this. He should have sensed it coming—it was probably only going to get worse.

“My wife.” Eddie clarified, “A woman that I married. People get married. I got married—to my _wife_ —”

“Okay, I get it, Jesus.” Richie made another face and took another drink. “I just didn’t know you—”

“Myra wanted to go on a cruise so we’re here. She’s at the spa right now but I’m going to meet up with her later.” Eddie cut him off in a rush, the words coming out quicker than he meant to.

“Myra.” Richie repeated, as if testing the name on his tongue and deciding it tasted like shit. It was his turn to make a face.

“What?” Eddie deadpanned, suddenly wishing he had a drink.

“Nothing. I’m just surprised you got married to a woman.”

“Fuck you.”

“Hey- I’m just making an observation. Is she hot?”

“What the fuck, Richie.”

Eddie grabbed the small travel bottles off the bar top, shoving them back into his pockets. “Seriously. I haven’t seen you since high school and you’re being like this? It’s like you haven’t aged a fucking day—and honestly I’m not surprised.”

“I’m not the one who led me on for four years—”

“Is _this_ where this conversation is going? We’re nearly fucking _thirty,_ dude— _grow up_.”

Eddie deflected and dodged the conversational bullets as quick as Richie shot them. This was bullshit. He wasn’t quite sure what little things his mind had conjured up after seeing Richie on stage last night. Stupid little bullshit things about a nice reunion or talking about the good ol’ days before laughing and moving on.

Instead it was just arguing- he honestly should have known better. That’s all he and Richie did was argue, especially down till the end of senior year—when Eddie had tried to come out and it didn’t go well, and Richie had decided everything was better on the downlow.

It was still a bitter pill to swallow on both ends for Eddie.

“It was a fucking high school thing— _high school_ —like years ago. Do you need me to tell you how long a year is? It’s three hundred and sixty-five fucking days and there has been a fuck ton of those clumps of three hundred and sixty-five fucking days so I’m gonna need you to get over yourself—”

“Oh, _I_ need to get over myself?”

“Yeah, _you,_ Richie—talking about my wife like you know her. I love her, okay? I fucking love my wife.”

“Dude, I didn’t say jack shit about your wife. I just said her name and that its weird that you have one.”

Eddie was standing up, frustrated with how his body was swaying with the ship. He glanced over, watching the water slosh in the pool and the younger couples enjoying it. There was something about the lack of control while a large vessel carried him through the ocean—powerless and just standing aboard, trusting everything to work the way it needed to.

Trusting everyone to care for him the way they were meant to, and just going with the flow—the tide—the waves.

“Which is saying shit about my wife.” Eddie pushed his sunglasses back onto his face.

“In what fucking way??” Richie was getting up now—and fuck, he was still taller than him. He stood over Eddie in a way that made him even more frustrated. A mixture of anger and desperation with a dash of ‘what could have been’ thrown in for a little spice.

As if he needed a personal, physical reminder walking around of his current dawning regret of his life choices.

“You made a fucking face about it—”

“Yeah, because you told me you were gay in high school and now you have a wife.”

To give Richie some credit, he did keep his voice down. There was a certain unspoken level of understanding, a reminder of how Eddie would flip out or lose his cool. Packed in issues that they both were still dealing with during time apart.

Nearly ten years apart.

And suddenly—it seemed like Richie had grown up and he hadn’t.

Eddie sucked in a sharp breath through his nose, and the inhaler finally made its way to his lips. The plastic shoved stubbornly between them, the tinge of salt from the sea air adding a bitter bite to his already awful day. He breathed in deeply—

“Do you still fucking use that? You don’t need it—” Richie started, right where he left off—

And Eddie snapped.

“You don’t know that! You don’t know shit, Rich! Where have you been, huh? Its been fucking years and then you’re just suddenly here and I’m here and what the _fuck is supposed to happen now_ —” He was panicking, if that wasn’t obvious.

During the last ten years or so, Eddie had gotten good at keeping his outbursts under wraps. The anxiety that would flare up in his teens and his life in general carefully bottled up and stopped with a cork and sealed with wax for extra protection. They always worried Myra- or so he liked to think. The first time it had happened she had really just told him to stop shouting and convinced him to ask his doctor to up his dosage of Lexapro. Which helped—or Eddie believed it did.

He wasn’t quite sure anymore.

What he was sure of, was in the clouding haze of his slightly tunneling vision Richie seemed to be on damage control. He moved in but stopped when Eddie took a step back and very nearly tripped off the raised platform the bar was sat upon, the deck slippery from water sloshing out of the pool and his balance unaided by the rocking of the ship.

“Don’t fucking touch me—” He really didn’t mean for it to come out so harsh and so quick, but his lungs felt like they were going to crumple in on themselves or explode and couldn’t make up their mind. Eddie took another sudden and desperate pull from the inhaler and made the mistake of looking at Richie. “Fuck—”

“It’s okay, Eds.” Richie had both hands out, like Eddie was a wounded animal backed into a corner—god Eddie hated him. “Just breathe. You remember how to do that, right?”

“Fuck you. I know how to breathe.”

“Want some ginger with that snap?”

“You’re a dick.”

“Takes one to know one.”

“What are you even doing here?”

“I got paid to do it, and you paid to be on it.”

“Can you figure out better one liners?”

“Can you figure out I fucked your mom?”

Eddie stared at him—and laughed, still borderline hysterical. He reached up, rubbing at his own face under his sunglasses. He was still panicking, but a little steadier on his feet.

And a little more confused.

“I have to go.” Eddie said, quickly, and made a break for it, leaving Richie where he was at the bar on deck.

Richie watched his retreating form and dropped his hands uselessly to his side and let loose an exasperated laugh of his own, shoving a hand through his hair. “What the _fuck_.”

\---

That night, Eddie laid awake for a long while, staring at the ceiling as if it personally offended him. Myra was snoring softly next to him, her arm around his middle physically trapping him down against the bed.

He blamed the rolling nausea in his stomach on the sea sickness, though that should be gone by now though if his wife’s little trick of shoving SweetTarts under his tongue had done anything.

They had actually argued over that—it seemed like a stupid thing to argue about, but in the end, Eddie had folded and stuck the candy under his tongue and savored it like the bitter pill that it was.

He had carefully danced around his day when they met back up earlier, avoiding questions and giving vague answers. He felt like he was warring with himself, and warring with his wife as well.

Everything was a mess.

When pure exhaustion dragged him under finally Eddie found a small comfort in his dreams of broad shoulders, glasses, and a stupid fucking voice.

He was doomed.

\---

Eddie didn’t expect to see Richie again for the rest of the two-week cruise.

In fact, he was actively trying to avoid him so he would never have to see him ever again. Mainly because he couldn’t stop thinking of the asshole. What business did he have showing up in his dreams of all places? Richie was just complicating things, just like he had done when they were younger and more stupid.

However, no matter how big the ship, or how hard he tried, Eddie found himself running into the bane of his sexual existence again the next night, and quite literally too.

“Fucking Christ—can you at least watch where you’re going—” Richie had his hands on Eddie’s shoulders as he practically pulled the smaller man off his chest from where he had smacked straight into him when he came barreling around the corner.

Eddie staggered back, nearly slapping Richie’s hands off before he truly realized who it was.

They stood and stared at each other for a moment, Richie’s brow calmly raised above the thick rims of his glasses and Eddie’s face pinched into a perfect ‘fuck you’ expression.

“You’re not supposed to be hugging the wall that fucking tight when you’re in a hallway—”

“ _I_ was hugging the wall? You were practically fucking it.” Richie snorted, “Running away from someone else in your past or what?”

Eddie set his jaw and crossed his arms firmly over his chest. “Yeah well—”

“I’m sorry- give me two seconds here because it is _very_ hard to take you serious when I just realize you’re wearing a Hawaiian shirt. What the fuck even _is_ that one?” Richie held his hands out, gesturing to Eddie up and down and letting out a huff of a laugh.

Eddie’s face only contorted into a little more of a scowl before immediately slackening to defend himself. “It looks much better than your shit!”

“Yeah but this is like, my brand.” Richie was gesturing at himself now—he really wished he wouldn’t just spread his hand across his chest like that. Like Eddie needed any _more_ temptation to stare. “I’ve never seen you wear shit like that unless it’s Halloween or something.”

“For your information this is _Tommy Bahamas_ —”

“Oh, so we’re at the name brand shit now. Are your shoes Gucci?”

Richie had that shit eating grin on his lips.

Eddie wanted to smack it off—with his mouth.

“Did you buy it specifically for this vacation?” Richie went on, because nothing could stop him, “Fuck. You look like a dad— _shit_ you don’t have kids do you?”

“Oh fuck no.” Eddie huffed out an exasperated laugh, surprising even himself. That would mean him and Myra actually having sex and—

Eddie stopped suddenly, because he suddenly realized something.

He realized that he didn’t like having sex with his wife.

And they had been married for five years.

Huh.

“…You alright there, Eds? Besides hating my guts, apparently.” Richie was asking, because something in Eddie’s face must have given it away. His eyes flickered up to the taller man’s, staring at him for a moment.

“Uh…fuck. Yeah, uh…” Eddie cleared his throat after his very eloquent stammering and wet his lips thoughtfully. He didn’t quite know what he was doing, but—“…About that.”

“What? Hating me.”

“Yeah.”

“So, you do then.”

“What? _No_ —of course not.”

“Running off yesterday really confirms that, yeah.”

“You were being a dick.”

“So were you!”

“Can we just—” Eddie sighed, reaching up and pinching the bridge of his nose. He turned to glance behind himself, back down the hallway he had just come racing out of. Myra was laying down in the room with a headache, and Eddie had stepped out before he had gone truly mad.

Just the silence and the dark, the waves outside and the balcony door closed because fuck if Myra ever let him on the balcony because _the sea air isn’t that good, Eddie dear. What if you catch a cold, Eddie? What if someone throws something off their balcony and it lands on ours, Eddie? It could hurt you, Eddie. Sometimes these things happen—_

“Can we just talk…for a minute?” He dropped his hand and let his breath follow it, his shoulders slumping as the strings that pulled them were dropped. He felt like a puppet, being pulled and tugged into what other’s wanted- not what he wanted.

And all Eddie wanted right now was to just talk to Richie. Alone.

He wasn’t sure why, when, or where—but he wanted to do it. He wanted to spend time with Richie- and he hadn’t in years. He had actually actively tried not to think the other man. It made things too messy and made him question too many things.

But now he was right here- he was in front of Eddie and this was the second time they had run into each other face to face.

It was like the universe was giving him a gentle suggestion at a direction to take.

If Eddie Kaspbrak was good at anything, it was following directions.

“Uh…” Richie, who seemed like he didn’t know what to do with the given question, stared down at Eddie dumbly for a moment. He was either setting himself up for hope or heartbreak—and he could very easily just throw caution to the window and deal with the consequences later.

“Sure.”

“Great—” Eddie said, a little too quickly, “Where’s your room?”

“ _My_ room?”

“Yeah— _your_ room, fuckwad. I’m not taking you back to the room I’m sharing with my _wife.”_

“I mean, you could.”

“No? I literally can’t?”

“You literally could though. Are we being physically blocked out or something? Or are you just scared she’ll want me too bad?”

Eddie narrowed his eyes as Richie cracked a grin. “Where’s your room, asshole.”

“Right this way, Captain Spaghetti.” Richie gave a mock salute, then turned to head back down the direction he had come.

If he had stayed turned around for a moment more, he would have seen Eddie smile.

\---

“No fucking _way_ \--!” Richie was laughing, a loud sort of barking laugh that started from his chest and exploded into the room in an infectious way. They were sitting cross legged in the middle of the king-sized bed in Richie’s suite, drinking wine from room service out of the bottle instead of the glasses. Eddie took the bottle for his turn, wiping the top of it with his under shirt before putting it to his lips. He wasn’t quite sure when he had unbuttoned his Hawaiian shirt but it had happened at some point.

“I don’t know why you find it so fuckin’ funny, I literally have a gluten allergy. I can’t eat gluten. It’s a thing and it sucks.” He said, determined after he swallowed a mouthful of the honestly pretty damn good wine, bitching at Richie Tozier like they were just catching up as old friends.

The swing of these moods was giving him whiplash.

“Eds. Eddie, my dear—little plate of limp fucking noodles—I once watched you _inhale_ twelve Olive Garden breadsticks because I told you I didn’t believe they have a cap on their bottomless breadsticks.”

“Yeah! And I felt like shit afterwards!”

“You always feel like shit!”

“Probably because I have a gluten allergy!”

Eddie stuck his thumb over the top of the wine bottle and aimed to smack Richie lightly with it. The action once again prompted that warm, infectious laugh as Richie merely caught the bottle and took it into his own hands.

“God, look at this- I’m not in your life for, fuck, ten plus years and you’ve convinced yourself you’ve got something stupid.” Richie took his own swig from the bottle, just a little deeper, and without wiping the rim off first.

Eddie watched his throat bob and matched it with an unconscious swallow of his own, his mind snapping back to the remark made after a slow moment.

“Fuck you. I didn’t convince myself of shit.”

“Okay- fine, you didn’t but your mom probably fucking did—”

“She’s dead, _asshole_.”

To his credit, Richie seemed to sober a little, dropping the bottle to rest against his thigh and stare at his high school ex across the bed.

“…Shit.” He breathed—despite his opinions on Eddie’s mom and the exact healthiness of their relationship there were too many nights of Eddie working himself up into frustrated tears during sophomore year because— _She’s my fucking mom, Rich. I still love her—I had that I fucking love her but I do she’s my **mom**_ —

Richie cleared his throat, pushing the pad of his thumb up and down the smooth glass neck of the bottle slowly. “I’m sorry, Eds.” He said, carefully, decidedly not looking at him for a short moment.

Across the bed, Eddie took a deep breath and shifted his weight, reaching out and taking the bottle from Richie’s slowly loosening grip. He was already getting a slight buzz; they had another bottle sitting in a cooler waiting.

This is what cruises were for, right? Having fun. Getting tipsy and shit.

Certainly not reuniting with your high school sweetheart and swapping life stories and jokes across his California king sized bed in a suite with the nice curtains swaying in the night sea breeze through the open balcony door.

Certainly not slowly realizing you were enjoying every little bit of this more and more than the last however many years with your wife.

Eddie took yet another breath, forgot to wipe off the rim of the bottle, and took a long drink that even Richie gave a vague impressed sound at.

“Uh…how’d it happen….?” Richie was venturing, and Eddie closed his eyes tight. He focused on the slight numbness of his lips for a moment, how they felt strange and warm when he pressed them flat together. A pleasant sway that was not only from the ship but from the amount of liquid courage he wished he could inject directly into his veins.

Eddie didn’t drink often—but he knew it never took much.

God what was he _doing_ —

“Same as dad.” He cleared his throat, suddenly deciding that picking the label off the bottle was a little more interesting. “Cancer.”

The label came off under his careful attention, leaving behind a streaky white residue of paper and adhesive. There was a movie once, wasn’t there? With Leo DiCaprio—Eddie remembered a scene of a young Leo filling a wallet with all sorts of labels and using it to distract a Tom Hanks character while he fled out the window.

Something about check fraud and fake identities. Pretending you were something you were not and escaping around the country.

Eddie gave a concentrated little frown.

“Hey- remember Catch Me If You Can?”

That seemed to catch Richie off guard because he hesitated for a small moment, “Uh. Yeah, I do—that was quite a segue but yeah. It’s a pretty good movie.”

“They made a musical.”

“Don’t they do that with everything now?”

“Yeah but that’s beside the point.”

“Okay what’s the point then? Why are we talking about a check fraud true story movie?”

Eddie pressed his tongue against the inside of his lower lip, pushing it out just a little and folding the label up in his hand over and over—the bottle of wine now precariously balanced atop the soft comforter and leaning against his thigh.

“Cause…” Eddie sighed, tucking the label between his fingers and pulling it out slowly, feeling the drag of smooth printed paper against the soft skin between his fingers. “Do you ever just feel like you want to run away and change your name to Barry Allen?”

“So, like the Flash.”

“Yeah that’s what he did in the movie—or real life, it’s a true story thing.”

“Of course, I feel like I want to run away what fuckin’ question is that?”

“I dunno just a question- don’t get all weird about it—”

“You’re being the weird one—gimme that.”

Richie reached across the bed and snatched the bottle back. “You somehow turned into even _more_ of a lightweight. Jesus.” He snorted and took his own long pull to finish off the bottle before leaning over and setting it on the ground.

Eddie watched him as he moved, the pull of Richie’s broad shoulders as he leaned over, feeling the comfort and ease as if they were just teenagers again.

Stupid teenagers stupidly in love.

“As if you’re one to talk about alcohol tolerance.” Eddie flicked the label at Richie when he sat up, laughing as it hit his glasses. It wasn’t a loud laugh, more of a soft and sad huff under his breath, his thin lips tightening into a worried smile as he continued. “So, you feel like you wanna run away and start again?”

It was Richie’s turn to shrug, scratching at the back of his neck and letting his hand hang there for a moment, the label lying forgotten on the bed beside him. “Doesn’t everyone? It’s like a human nature thing.”

“Yeah, but…” Eddie frowned, his eyes drifting elsewhere as he tried to sort through thoughts he had been ignoring.

Thoughts that only seemed to perk up when Richie was around.

Maybe that’s why he had distanced himself in the first place—broke it off in high school and married a woman who told him what to eat and suggested how to dress.

He dropped the running away subject for now. His tipsy brain was dealing with the slowly rising tide of a tad too much red wine to really deal with one crisis at a time.

“I’m sorry.” Eddie found himself saying, the frown deepening its etching on his face, “Fuck—yeah I’m sorry for when we were kids, Rich. I was just young and scared and my mom—”

“You don’t have to fuckin’ apologize.” Richie said, cutting Eddie off immediately. He leaned over to try and catch his wandering gaze, having to tilt his head to even stand a chance at finding it. “Hey—eyes on me, short stack.”

Eddie made a face at the nickname but looked over at Richie regardless. He had his head practically upside-down, hair hanging in wild directions like a childing dangling by his feet on the monkey bars. Glasses sliding further down his nose and an oddly soft and warming smile on his lips.

An encouraging one.

One he used to wear when he would find Eddie freaking out under the bleachers or on quarantine in his room for a week because one girl got the flu in their algebra class.

“There’s those goddamn Bambi eyes.” Richie said, straightening up when Eddie did and breaking the illusion. “Look. We were young and stupid—your sexuality stuff is always messy when you’re a teen, I get it. I had college phases too but look at you! You’re married! You afforded a cruise which means you’re doing good—and look at how you _dress_ , man. Like an L.L. Bean model dad from Disney World.”

“Yeah, but—” Eddie was getting frustrated. The words that kept catching in his throat, the thoughts that didn’t make sense in his head. He should be happy- this is what his life was supposed to be—and in his mind it all kept boiling back down to Myra this and Myra that, and Mom this and Mom that and—Myra and Mom and Myra and Mom and Myra—

At the same time that Richie opened his mouth to say, ‘but what?’, Eddie blurted out, “I think I kinda hate my wife—”

Richie couldn’t help but stare at him for a solid minute, trying to catch and put together the pieces of what Eddie had just said.

“I’m sorry—you _what_? Aren’t you on a while romantic cruise with her and you made a whole big deal about it yesterday—”

“Yeah--! And--!” Eddie huffed, making a jabbing motion in the air with his hand, his voice raising just a little. He was getting flustered- he was tipsy- he had no _idea_ what he was saying.

And on top of it all Richie was looking even better than before right now in the light of the setting sun.

“And--! We- okay, fuck. We don’t get along—and she’s breathing down my neck _constantly_ —always Eddie this and Eddie that and I just—I just wanna fuckin’ _live_ , man!” His voice kept raising as he went, pitching a little higher and higher still for a man in his thirties. Eddie smacked his hand down onto the bed and looked at Richie for a moment.

There was a brief moment where he could see it—the movement in Richie’s head and the gears and cogs working together. His mouth opening and closing as he tried to think of what to say—probably actually regretted what he was thinking—and then just flat out said it anyways.

“So, you married your mom.” Richie said, bluntly.

Eddie was thrown- he didn’t expect that—and then he suddenly felt cold, like someone else had noticed similarities that he had tried too hard to bury so far away. Twenty feet under. In a locked box. With the key destroyed and the sides welded shut.

Instead of cave in—he protested.

“I did not!”

“Oh my god you so fuckin’ did—you got a picture? Let me see!”

“No! I’m not showing you a picture of Myra!”

“Holy shit she looks like her, doesn’t she? Holy fuck Eddie you’re tiny did you marry someone massive?”

“Fuck you, man! I was _opening up to you—”_

“Fuck yeah you are, and you just told me all I needed to know.”

Eddie smacked the bedspread again, lifted his hand, and jabbed a finger in Richie’s face, staring him down with a set jaw and tense hand.

“You—” Eddie huffed—then smacked Richie right across the cheek.

“Ow--! What the flying fuck, Edward--!” Richie, falling back into their old habits as easy as riding a bike, aimed to immediately slap back at Eddie in return.

But—Eddie grabbed a fistful of the front of his shirt instead, and yanked him in.

Richie toppled forward- his balance on the bed wasn’t great and Eddie had his compact little body rooted to his own spot. Suddenly, Eddie had mashed their mouths together in a way he had to refamiliarize himself with.

Because Eddie was kissing him- hard and desperate—after just telling him he fucking hated his wife—and there was the taste of red wine in his mouth, and the lingering bite of SweetTarts and mouthwash.

There was that twinge that was uniquely _Eddie_ down to the awkward clack of their teeth in the beginning that they had never had the chance to figure out past the age of seventeen. There was suddenly Eddie through the tipsy haze hovering between both of them climbing into Richie’s lap and knocking his glasses askew.

It sent him rocketing back- to two high schoolers who had no idea what they were doing. Ending up tangled together on the pull-out bed in Richie’s basement—dazed and sated, both embarrassed but pleased at what had just happened.

It was that moment—but all over again and with ten years of complications between them. That second first kiss with Eddie’s arms wrapping around his shoulders so tight Richie feared he might topple back and right into the floor.

Well that was—wow.

Eddie pulled back from his lips but was still a steady weight in his lap. He looked up at Richie, dazed and cheeks lightly flushed from both the alcohol and the kiss. They stared at each other for a few moments, the only movement between them being their breathing and Eddie’s hand slipping from his shoulders in order to fix his glasses.

“This isn’t some…intense crisis thing, is it?” Richie murmured, his brain slowly beginning to catch up with what had just happened.

Eddie swallowed hard, the action audible with how close they were. He tilted his chin up and in, pressing a featherlight kiss against the corner of Richie’s mouth.

“No, it’s, uh, a hundred percent a fucking crisis.” Eddie gave a laugh, breathless but—heartachingly genuine, “But it’s a—a good fuckin’ crisis.”

“Like telling your mom off before prom crisis?”

“Yeah, like that.”

Eddie had one arm still loosely hanging around Richie’s shoulders, fingers twisting and playing with the hair at the nape of his neck with light, hypotonic movements.

“Listen.” Eddie was speaking up again, his gaze fluttering somewhere across the patterned fabric of Richie’s shirt against his chest, shifting in his lap just enough to get comfortable, “I know it’s been like ten fucking years, but do you still—”

“Eds. I never stopped.” Richie cut him off immediately. If Eddie followed through with saying what he was going to, Richie wouldn’t be able to reply. He’d wrap himself so far up in his own head, in his tangled emotions and his confused feelings. Locking everything deep down where it was easier to not get hurt.

But he wanted to tell him, he needed to.

This felt like the right moment to tell him anyways.

Eddie’s fingers curled into his hair just a little tighter, a silent understanding passing between them.

“This is insane.” He said in a breath, “This is so fucking insane I’m married and—”

“Are you happy?”

“What?”

“Are you happy? With Myra.”

“I—we—I mean—”

Eddie was grasping at straws, and Richie was watching him do it, his hand coming to rest against the smaller man’s waist, rubbing slow circles through the soft fabric of his shirt with his thumb. “It’s a yea or nah question, spaghetti.”

To his surprise, Eddie actually relaxed under his ministrations. The tension dropped from his shoulders in a way that mimicked an odd in between of resignation and pleasant relief. For once in his life Eddie was handed an answer, plain and simple and boiled down to the most basic of realizations.

“No. I’m not.” He cleared his throat, glancing up at Richie again and studying his eyes behind his glasses.

Richie hid his smile, which he gave himself points for—don’t laugh at the high school ex’s crumbling marriage, that was a good rule of thumb to follow.

“Okay. Are you happy right now then? With this?”

The question hung in the air, and Eddie swore he could feel Richie’s heart beating faster at this close range, but his expression didn’t betray it. Richie had gotten a little too good at masking himself in their years apart and Eddie wasn’t quite sure how to feel about it.

He took another deep breath before he answered, “…Yeah. Yeah I am—and I’m scared as fuck about it.”

Richie laughed, “When are you not scared?”

“Shut the fuck up.” Eddie’s body eased further, a decision made in their current time and space. He leaned forward before he hesitated—before he second guess and thought things through far too much—and pressed another kiss to Richie’s lips. Less frantic, more lingering—more final but in the best of ways.

“God…” Eddie breathed, things slowly catching back up as the water wheel of mental processing began to turn, “Fuck. This is insane—what am I doing? This is fucking crazy, dude. I’m gonna have to tell Myra I want a divorce and we’re on a _cruise_ and where the fuck am I going to live we have a house but shit—fuck all this shit is in her name holy shit everything is under _her_ —what did I get myself into—”

“Eddie. Eds. You’re spiraling and I’ve had too much fucking wine to keep up. Jesus fucking Christ.” Richie reached up, slapping a hand over Eddie’s mouth—who promptly swatted him away in true Eddie fashion.

“Look- its gonna be okay. You got this, okay? I don’t know…the full X-Y-and-Z of all this shit but I know that if you did this sorta thing senior year than you can do it again and just tell her you’re done.” He continued, watching Eddie squirm and retreat into himself a little in his lap.

Richie hated to see it, but he was slowly realizing the panic was needed.

“Yeah but when I did it then I just ran right back. What’s the fucking difference gonna be this time?” Eddie pulled his hands away from Richie, shoving one through his hair and finally dropping back onto his own side of the bed.

“Me.” Richie said, firmly. “The difference is me. And I’m not letting you shove me away this time.”

\---

Honestly, Eddie had expected it to go worse.

True, telling Myra started with a lot of cold, long glares and a tangled string soaked in gasoline of _this is just a phase, Eddie. You’re going through a midlife crisis, Eddie. I’m going to make an appointment for you to talk to someone when you get back, Eddie. You’re not gay, Eddie—you’re just confused, **Eddie—look at me, Eddie I’m you’re wife, Eddie—sweetie—honey—Eddie bear—**_

Eddie had been the first to snap, the first to start shouting. He felt small again, shaking and terrified but knowing what needed to be done—and he had done it.

That was how he ended up in the middle of the hallway, other cruise goers poking their heads out from their nearby rooms to see the pathetic man standing in the middle of the hallway with his suitcase thrown out and contents spilled—a slamming door adding finality but also the breaking of the seal of what was to come.

He probably should have waited until he was just a _little_ more sober for this, but, then again, sober Eddie was a little too much of a coward and he needed all the bravery he could get.

After taking a deep drag from his inhaler and letting the shaking subside, he began to gather his things back up into the suitcase, zipping it close and finding himself just staring at the floor.

Well fuck.

He had really just done that.

He had really just asked his wife of five years for a divorce because his old high school flame showed up telling stupid raunchy jokes on a cruise that was meant to repair their floundering marriage.

He had really just shut that door and opened another.

…

Part of him wanted to go back in there and apologize already.

He really should. It would just be as simple as opening the door and saying she was right—maybe Myra was—it was just all in his head and he was just--   
  
“Come on. Grab your shit—Did you know they’ve got Hoarders on the TV for some reason? Let’s watch it I wanna see you lose your marbles.”

Eddie glanced up, staring at where Richie was just down the hallway, leaning against the wall with his arms folded over his chest. He took a deep breath—because there was someone in his corner, and that someone didn’t make him feel breakable or under a microscope.

Richie didn’t put Eddie under his thumb, instead he held his hand and held it tight. He would stand with him, not over him.

Despite not seeing each other for years, falling back into this sort of relationship felt easier than the one he had just had for far too long.

With a weak, wavering smile that creased his brow and tightened the lines on his face, Eddie grabbed his suitcase and started over, his posture easing as Richie tossed an easy arm around his shoulders and pulled Eddie in close.

He might be floating on a ship in the middle of the ocean, but Eddie felt more grounded than he could ever remember being.

\---

A few hours later they were shirtless, tangled together on the bed and listening to the TV play softly in front of them.

The ocean outside the open balcony door- dark in the night and the waves crashing back and forth in a subtle way that Eddie’s white noise machine back home couldn’t hold a candle to.

They hadn’t exactly _done_ anything, just ended up making out like horny teenagers for a good long while until it became too much. Lots of touching and rediscovering, Richie’s (frankly massive) hands trailing teasing touches over Eddie’s sun freckled shoulders.

His head was pillowed against Richie’s chest, the thrumming of his heartbeat under his ear and the warmth of his body pressed close. Sheets pulled up just to their waists and feet tucked under Richie’s calves. It was comfortable—and Eddie realized he had never enjoyed laying like this with anyone before. It had always been a chore, one he felt stiff and trapped in—but Richie made it feel like those shitty romance novels he would read under the covers at two in the morning when he was too young to be doing so.

The moment was perfect—but Eddie repressed and sudden urge to throw up in his mouth at what was playing on the TV screen.

Because Richie had been serious about watching Hoarders- and they had just shown the kitchen of one of the people featured in the current episode.

“Oh my— _ergh_ —oh my fucking god that’s _disgusting_ —” Eddie gagged again, and had to hide his face against Richie’s chest, promptly smacking him when all Richie did was laugh.

“I’m gonna let my house get like that—”

“No, you’re fucking _not_. I will jump off that fucking balcony before you do.”

“Like you could get your tiny little legs over the railing.”

“Fuck you!”

“I mean, sure.” Richie gave him a shit eating grin, pressing his lips to the top of Eddie’s head.

Eddie didn’t have any idea what was happening- where he was going or how he was going to get there. He was still distantly and vaguely aware that he had asked his wife for a divorce mere hours ago before falling into bed with another man, but the anxiety was currently blocking that from his mind as much as it could.

Right now, it could just be him and Richie on this floating slice of almost paradise.

\---

“Alright. You can’t stay in here all day this is getting fucking sad.” Richie was already up and ready for the day, which was shocking for Eddie to see. Last he remembered; Richie liked to sleep in until the sunset at the very least.

Apparently, he had an improv show or something with the preforming group on the ship. Eddie had nearly forgotten that the only reason Richie was on this thing is he was the literal paid entertainment.

With a slight huff, Eddie extracted himself from the pillows scattered around the large bed and sat up, staring at Richie and narrowing his eyes when the cowlick sticking up at the back of his hair was promptly laughed at.

“It’s not fucking sad. I’m relaxing.”

“No. You’re hiding from your wife.”

“Ex-wife.”

“It takes a lot more than a mid-vacay breakup to end a marriage officially, Eds.”

Eddie hated when Richie made sense. He wrinkled his nose and reached up to try and smooth out his own hair with his hands. As it stood, he had been staying in Richie’s room for a full twenty-four hours—totally _not_ hiding from Myra.

The chances of running into her somewhere on the ship were unlikely, but not impossible.

Though he would have to run into her again at some point, considering they had a house together.

A house with a lot of Eddie’s things in it that he would have to clear out.

The mere thought of that was already making his head pound.

God. What had he done?

“Hey—I see you spiraling. Knock it off.” Richie crossed the room, dropping down onto the bed beside him and reaching out to pull Eddie’s hand away from where it had been resting over his bare chest, trimmed nails slowly dragging across the skin lightly- but enough to cause his complexion to redden with irritation.

Eddie didn’t quite remember lifting his hand.

When Richie pressed his thumb into the center of his palm with a firm, insistent sort of touch Eddie looked over.

“What?” He snapped.

Richie snorted, leaning over and pressing his lips against his cheek. “Get the fuck out of this room before I make you.”

“Okay—fucking fine, I’ll go.” Eddie pushed at him, and made a little bit of a face, “Go do what the fuck ever you have to do, and I’ll get out.” He shoved the blankets off of his lap, tossing his legs over the edge of the bed next.

“No, I’m gonna make sure you leave.” Richie regarded him with amusement, leaning back against the headboard now mainly just to observe the image of Eddie in his boxers in the early morning light.

You know- for science.

“What the hell, man. Just go.” Eddie gestured at him vaguely, marching across the room to the bathroom and shoving the door open.

“Nope!” Came Richie’s shout as it swung closed behind him.

Giving an exasperated sigh, Eddie leaned back against the door as he locked it, taking just a moment to remember to breathe and his exact place in reality before he made to turn the shower on.

The air was still humid and damp from Richie’s shower earlier when he had woken up. Eddie made a silent fuss over the towel that the other man had obviously just so carelessly dropped to the floor, picking it up and hanging it on the wrack before fetching a fresh one.

All of this was insanity still—like a dream that felt all too real but couldn’t be. Eddie kept half expecting to wake up and be left with trudging his way through this swampy mess his brain made up in whatever sort of mid-life crisis state he was going through.

He shucked off his boxers and got into the shower, shuddering at the hot water that thrummed against his back, trying in vain to ease some of the tension from his shoulders and carry it with it down the drain.

Eddie leaned his arm against the wall, ducking his head under the spray and closing his eyes.

What the absolute _fuck_ was he doing?

He kept sifting back and forth between this being the best idea of his life and this being the stupidest decision he had ever made.

With Myra he had security- he had his safety net. She was constant and expected in unexpected and—fuck, well, frightening ways. When he sat down and thought about it he felt safe.

Cornered, but safe.

Cornered and paranoid—frightened, uneasy—nauseous and nervous and shaky and not-in-control and a mess and someone to be managed but—

Safe.

Right.

With Richie it was—

Well. He had been through this before, but with a younger mind.

He had been dumb and stupid, tripping over his own two feet and screaming in a screeching voice whenever Richie did something completely disgusting on purpose just to rile him.

He was constantly in danger, doing bold things like jumping off a diving board or allowing himself to get goaded into eating far too many Olive Garden breadsticks to be considered healthy.

With Richie there was the threat of his allergies, or his asthma. He highly doubted that Richie knew what meds he needed to take or the fact that the freshly cut grass still stung his skin and made his eyes water. Or that ever spring he started sneezing and his ears would feel plugged or that—

But Richie had been through that with him before. Richie had been the one to pull Eddie’s inhaler from his shaking fingers when they figured out it was bullshit. All of it was.

Richie had been the one to call it before and here he was, calling all of it again.

And here was Eddie—caught between intentional ignorance and pure, unbridled _desire_ in every form thrumming through his veins.

Richie with his fucking stubble and his jokes that Eddie found himself laughing at still like he had then—and immediately denying it, of course. Richie that made him feel something and Richie who was pressed close to him last night in a way that didn’t make Eddie’s skin crawl in a terrible sensation he had trained himself to ignore.

Richie who had been kissing him lazily well into the evening—and Eddie kissing back in return— lips parted and wet as their tongues met on common ground. It drew a shudder out of Eddie last night, and it drew one out of him even now.

If Richie could make him feel like that with only his mouth—make him feel like they were young and stupid again trying to figure out what to do with each other—then imagine what he could do with, well—

Everything else.

Eddie became vaguely aware that his own fingertips were dancing nervously against the soft flesh of his abdomen. Right below his navel where he hesitated- almost uncertain if he were even allowed to do this to _himself_.

Which was stupid- of course he was allowed to touch himself.

Should he be doing it with Richie in the next room though?

Actually—that kind of thought spurred him onwards.

He took his length in his own hand, drawing in a slow breath and stroking himself to full hardness. Eddie remained leaning against the wall, the horrible water pressure sending warmth simply sliding down his back- but the slowly warming nerve endings beneath his skin made it all the more enjoyable.

With his eyes closed in concentration and his lower lip caught between his teeth, Eddie worked his hand just a little quicker, vaguely aware of the soft huffs of breath slipping past his lips and into the humid air.

His mind was firing with Richie this, and Richie that—Richie anything and Richie _everything_ —

God, he hadn’t been this turned on in _years_ and all he was doing was thinking about another man.

The sudden banging on the door startled him enough to nearly slip. Eddie flailed, and managed to catch himself against the wall—the moment entirely shattered and completely gone.

“ _Eduardo_ —did you die in there, did you?” Came Richie’s muffled voice through the door, “Come on! I’ve got places to be.”

Eddie set his jaw into a tense lock and ground his teeth, letting out a sigh and shaking out his wet hair. He was going to murder Richie—murder him with his bare hands.

Hopefully after he got laid first though. That was starting to become more and more of a bright neon pink elephant in the room. Or maybe he was just getting so wrapped up in the _romance_ of the cruise.

Eddie snorted to himself, then finished washing quickly before getting out of the shower.

There was no hiding in this room forever.

\---

Eddie wished he could hide in that room forever.

He had gotten into the theater to watch Richie screw around with the rest of the performance crew. Perks of following him around with the not-so-ex-boyfriend label floating above his head.

Honestly, it was funny. Just like Richie’s comedy routine he seemed to light up on stage no matter how big or small it was. There was barely anyone in the audience, just the sound techs, Eddie, and a few other people either related to or married to some of the fellow performers.

All of that was fine- he had chatted with a nice lady who said her wife was on the stage as well, being one of the girls bantering with Richie and nearly making him break character. They weren’t doing anything too serious, just little things to make sure the sound and everything was in working order and that the right bits were hit. The real improv performance would be in about an hour or so.

However, that wasn’t the part that made Eddie want to hole back up in Richie’s room.

The part that made him want to crawl back into oblivion and cease to exist was nearly slamming straight into Myra when he was exiting the theater to get some fresh air. Richie had to go back to get ready anyways, and he had haunted him long enough over the last few hours.

“Eddie! There you are- I’ve been looking for you everywhere.” She said, her tone expressing her concern immediately. Myra reached out, smoothing Eddie’s hair and grasping his shoulders.

He let her fuss over him for a moment before attempting to take a careful step back to provide distance- and flat out pulling away when her grip tightened.

“Honey, when you ran out the other night I was so worried. Then you’re not answering your phone and I know that’s because service isn’t good out here so that’s not your fault, I know you wouldn’t ignore me—” She kept continuing, even though Eddie was opening his mouth to try and interject. Myra wouldn’t let him get a word in edgeways- it was just a constant fact of life.

So, he stood there for a few moments, letting her words echo and blur in his mind in a muddled mesh of things that just didn’t make sense. A mess of things that made her sound just like his mother- just like the smothering he had sent himself right back into.

“—And I know you’re just confused, honey.”

That caught his attention and lit a small fire under Eddie’s ass that he hadn’t felt in years. He looked at her immediately, trying to shift his stance to stand taller.

“Actually, I’m not.”

“Eddie—”

“No, Myra. I’m not confused.” Eddie took a slow breath in, shocking himself in how he held his hand up when she tried to speak. It even startled his wife to some degree, and he realized he had never seen her recoil back like that before. “I’m sorry. It’s…It’s just not working- and I’ve tried to convince myself it is and that it could but it’s not—and I’m not happy. A relationship should be something that makes you happy—”

“It’s just the sun going to your head. Come back to the room and lie down and let me take care of you. If you just take—”

“ _No_ —Myra! You’re not _listening_ to me!” A couple of people near the theater entrance turned their heads. Eddie was shouting, he raised his voice higher than he ever had at her and he felt small again, like he used to—

But he also felt more powerful than ever, because she had finally shut her mouth.

“Eddie, you’re just—”

“God—can we just for _two fucking seconds_ —” Eddie drew in a sharp breath and pinched his pointer finger and thumb together, holding them up in front of himself. His hand shook ever so slightly, “Sorry- just. I’m sorry if I’ve led you on, or if things have gone—”

“Sweetie, we’re married!”

“Yeah, I’m painfully aware of that!”

This was going nowhere. What little upper hand he gained looped back down into a full circle. Eddie needed to cap the situation off and quick.

“It’s just—It’s—” He wanted to reach for his inhaler, he really did. His breath constricted in his chest and his lungs felt like they had shrunken in. If he did that would just prove her right though, that he needed her just like he had needed his mother. “It’s just not working. I’m sorry. I’m gonna call an attorney when we get back to New York.”

Eddie opened his mouth to say something more but closed it instead. He stepped around his soon-to-be-ex-wife, dodging the hand that reached out to try and grab his arm and immediately made a break for it.

\---

“I didn’t have a room key.” Eddie muttered to Richie’s hideous sandals as they stopped in front of him against the red carpet of the hallway.

He had gone immediately back to Richie’s room after he had told Myra it was over for a second time, only to realize he had no way of getting inside. At which point Eddie had simply slid his back down against the wall and seated himself on the floor, settling in for a long wait.

“Yeah, ‘cause it was to prevent you from trying to hide back in the room.” Richie said, looking down at him. “You look pathetic as fuck, Eds.”

“Gee, thanks.” He wrinkled his nose, dropping his head back against the wall to look all the way up at Richie finally.

“Jade said she saw you arguing with some Karen like woman outside.” Richie held his hand out to him and grasped onto Eddie’s tightly when he immediately took it, pulling him to his feet.

“Yeah. I had to tell Myra it was over.”

“Didn’t you already do that the other day?”

“She’s stubborn and doesn’t take no for an answer.”

“Wow- so you really did marry—”

“Richie. I’m gonna need you to shut the fuck up.”

To his credit, Richie did immediately shut his trap, but not because Eddie had told him to. It was mainly because Eddie had suddenly crowded in _very_ close, and his hand was now slipping down over his ass, and—

The little bastard grabbed the keycard out of Richie’s back pocket and pulled away, turning around to open the door.

“You’re a shit. You know that, right?” Richie grumbled, taking a breath to gather his cool that he certainly did _not_ just lose due to Eddie pulling a little stunt like that.

Eddie flipped him off over his shoulder and stepped into the room, leaving the door to close on Richie’s face if he didn’t catch it- which thankfully he did.

“Alright- I’m not dealing with your temper tantrum shit right now.” Richie let the door fall closed behind himself, kicking off his sandals in the entry hall.

Eddie pulled a face.

“Did you seriously just take your shoes off? You’re not wearing socks!”

“Yeah? And?”

“This place is like a hotel room!”

“Not this again. Eddie, for fucks sake—”

“Do you know how many _germs_ are on this carpet—”

“We had this same convo like ten years ago, dude.”

“Cause I’m not the one who rented a room for prom!”

“I’m sorry for not wanting to fuck you at your _mom’s house_?”

“You were just _so_ convinced you were gonna get laid—”

Eddie turned to point his finger in Richie’s face, but Richie moved just a little quicker and grabbed his wrist instead, yanking Eddie into him. He went, thankfully, and fell into Richie all too easily.

Honestly, part of him was still glad trapping Eddie with affection like this was still very much like tossing a quilt over a feral cat.

But, like, in a good way.

Richie’s arms wound around his waist and Eddie relaxed just a little more. One of his hands rested flat against his chest, the other with his wrist still caught in Richie’s hold. His grip shifted then, pressing his thumb flat against Eddie’s palm to ease the tension in his hand before threading their fingers together.

“Take a fucking breather, Eds. Jesus.” Richie murmured, pressing his lips to the top of his head.

Eddie gave a breathless, quiet laugh against his chest. “Easier said than done, asshole.”

Richie rubbed his thumb against the arch of Eddie’s hip through the soft fabric of his shirt, breathing in slowly.

“Look…I’m not the best at this shit, but—” Richie cleared his throat lightly, “You fucking did it. Twice in a couple days- you said you weren’t happy and now you’re changing it. You told Myra you’re done and that’s how its gonna be if you really want it to be that way.”

He pulled back just enough to look down at Eddie, trying to catch his gaze, “This—this right here? This is the same tensed up motherfucker I knew who would scream at the fucking quarterback for not washing his hands in front of the entire cheerleading squad. The same guy who climbed out his bedroom window and the same one who let me take him to the middle of bumfuck nowhere to watch stars in the back of that shitty truck I used to have.”

“We were kids, Rich—”

“Yeah? And what are we now?”

“…Adults?”

“Right, but you’re honestly gonna tell me you have everything figured out? That things aren’t just as scary or fucked up as they were then?”

Eddie seemed to consider it, scrunching up his nose and creasing his brow. “Okay—yeah but—maybe….” He huffed out a breath, “….Yeah you’re right.”

“…Wow. Can I get a replay on that?”

“Fuck you.”

The laugh that bubbled from Eddie’s throat soothed the situation over and made Richie’s heart soar. He tightened his hold on Eddie, letting go of his hand in order to wrap both arms around his waist and rock them back and forth in a forced sway.

“Spaghetti said I was right--!”

“Ah--! You’re gonna make me _fall_ — _Richie_!” Eddie stumbled a little, but Richie held fast, getting another breathless almost-giggle out of him as he man-handled Eddie towards the bed and shoved him back until he collapsed onto the freshly made surface.

Eddie bounced when he hit the mattress, adjusting himself so he was up on his elbows and scooting back as he laughed. Richie crawling over him was a comfort and welcomed- not some imposing force. He eased down, relaxing and letting his eyes flutter closed when Richie kissed him. A soft peck with a bite of stubble against his lips.

“Never gonna let that go.”

“Alright, alright.”

“Alright like how _I’m_ right?” Richie grinned, peppering another kiss to his lips—to Eddie’s cheek—to his nose—his eyelids—his forehead—his chin.

“If you don’t shut the fuck up, I’m going to rethink through every single fucking crisis I’m having right now and then just leave and find another room to sleep in.”

“Ah ha- no, Eds. Don’t do that you’re too sexy.”

Eddie nudged at him with his knee, managing to get a jab in at Richie’s side that nearly made him collapse on top of him. Richie caught himself at the last moment, hiding his giggle in Eddie’s shoulder.

He kissed at his shoulder, then his neck, relishing in the breathless sigh that left Eddie’s lips and the way he sagged into the mattress. Richie let his hand rest on his waist, sliding his touch up and down- counting Eddie’s ribs absently as he went. His mind wandered as his touch did, losing himself in Eddie and thinking about Eddie.

Thinking about—

“Hey, Eds?” Richie murmured, his lips now brushing over the man’s beneath him.

“Hm?” Eddie’s eyes were closed for a few moments longer, opening part way to look up at him. He paused when Richie did, frowning just slightly. “…What? Richie?”

Richie was hesitating in a brief moment of vulnerability, resting one elbow against the bed as to not crush Eddie when he reached up, letting his fingertips trace the creased lines in his face caused by the downturned expression. “…You mean this, right? Like—you keep saying it’s a crisis and shit but….is all this gonna blow over in a week?”

“Rich—”

“Which, if it is just let me know—cause I’m okay with that but you gotta give a guy time to brace himself—”

“Richie—”

“I haven’t been in your exact situation but I kinda get it. Like everything’s fucked up and cruises can be romantic and bullshit like we’re just on the ocean and everything’s all fairy lights and slow dancing—”

“ _Asshole_ —”

Eddie grabbed the front of Richie’s shirt and pulled him down into a kiss. For a moment Richie lost his balance, falling on top of Eddie and quickly trying to right himself.

Kissing was good. Kissing was always a good sign.

After a moment Eddie pulled back. “Now that you shut the fuck up- yes. I do mean this. It’s gonna be insane and crazy and…probably not easy but I mean it.”

Richie let that sink in—the weight of Eddie’s words and the way his fingers played an absent rhythm against Richie’s chest. The way those large brown eyes seemed to dip closed in the most relaxed state Richie had ever seen on him.

Eddie was at ease, and Eddie was sure of himself.

“…God. You’re so fucking hot when you make huge gay crisis life decisions.” Richie murmured, ducking in and chasing the sound of Eddie’s laugh to his lips.

\---

_ Five Years Later _

“I’m going to fucking vomit—”

“You didn’t have to take another cruise job.”

“But—it’s a free cruise!”

“That is not the reason you do this. Would you just—we have another _week_ of this.”

Eddie was still tangled in the bedsheets in their room, very much naked and regretfully awake now that his husband decided to have a _moment_. He rolled onto his back, staring at Richie who was sitting up on the bed and looking at the large window.

“Did you leave that _open_ \--?” Eddie finally realized, scrambling to sit up a little more and pulling a pillow over his lap for extra security. “Richie it’s a huge fucking window—”

“Oh right. Let me just apologize to the ocean for exposing it to my dick.” He snorted, turning his head to look at him finally, “And the whole entire audience out there that watched me rail you last night.”

Eddie picked up a second pillow with a huff, throwing it at Richie and watching the other man bat it out of the way with a laugh, using the momentary distraction to duck in and kiss him quickly.

“You’re right though.” Richie said, moving closer and dragging Eddie into his arms.

For a brief moment he fussed, but that was only to shift around and make himself comfortable. “About?”

“I didn’t take this one for the free cruise. Maybe I just wanted to drag you back to where we first reunited and experience the miracles of the ocean without your mom-wife around every corner.” Richie hummed, taking the pinch to his arm in stride with a sharp laugh and a jostle of his husband in his arms.

“Fuck you.” Eddie said first before continuing, “…God that really was bad, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, I never witnessed a fully-grown man try and crawl into airducts until that moment.”

“To be fair I asked for a divorce at a very bad time.”

“I think you asked for it at a very right time.”

“You’re biased.”

“Maybe.”

When the silence settled Eddie was smiling, his fingers tracing light trails up and down Richie’s arm and down to his hand. He let his touch linger, finding the cool metal of the gold band sitting on his finger and pressing his thumb against it. A solid, perfect reminder of what had become of all this insanity.

A husband who supported him in all of his craziness. Who stood through the yelling and even yelled back, but never going to bed angry if they could help it. Something that was healthy in ways Eddie hadn’t known he needed until it was presented.

Richie with his career taking off, comfortable in his own skin. Eddie finding his footing and working his way into an office he actually enjoyed. It was all knew and scary- and even after five years it was still surprising him.

Eddie sighed, easing back against Richie’s chest and closing his eyes as his husband nosed at his neck, pressing feather light kisses here and there. While he was on the cruise as entertainment, they still had moments to themselves.

And tonight, Eddie would stand in the wings of the small stage and laugh at all his jokes—good, bad, and worse. He would be there when Richie was done and when he would go onto the stage again- friends with his friends and coworkers, not ashamed of a single thing.

Life was playing out like a movie—but with less ship sinking and no hiding your identity as you ran from country to country committing check fraud. It wasn’t without its hardships or its obstacles, and it wasn’t exactly like a dreamy dance sequence on the cruise deck complete with fog and hanging stars.

It was life that felt like a fantasy.

The odds finally rolled in Eddie’s favor. A good luck charm on his left ring finger, and a matching one on the man he held at night.

A nice house that didn’t feel stuffy when he walked into it- one that felt like a _home_.

“So…have you thought about kids?” Richie asked, his lips somewhere around Eddie’s shoulder.

The phrasing startled him, his eyes snapping open. A moment passed before he remembered this was _Richie_ who was talking.

“I swear if you’re talking about us getting a dog again, I’m going to fucking kill you. Just say _dog_! Like a _normal_ person!” Eddie reached back, grabbing Richie’s side.

Richie gave a shout that dropped off into a small laugh, dragging his husband down with him on the bed.

Sound check wasn’t for a few hours anyways.

**Author's Note:**

> Wanna talk to me on Twitter? I'm @acornandroid there too


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